


Just Another Victim Of The Ambient Morality

by LapsedPacifist



Series: Synchronize Your Dogmas [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise, The Culture - Iain M. Banks
Genre: Amputation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Moral Dilemmas, Prison, scheming Minds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 19:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapsedPacifist/pseuds/LapsedPacifist
Summary: Seori never meant for any of this to happen, but if there was one thing he truly knew, it was the fact that the Universe just loved not listening to him.Because apparently finding himself in an alien prison with no way of contacting the Culture was not bad enough, there was now a human person he was expected to take care of!He was resigning from Contact, SC and possibly life right after this.





	Just Another Victim Of The Ambient Morality

**Author's Note:**

> why does this exist? honestly, no idea

If anyone ever breathed the word ‘vacation’ anywhere in his vicinity ever again, Ester-Ciansa Seori Aanev Tan dam Simuriie would beat them to death and then shoot himself so that nothing like this happened _ever again._

Of course, that whole procedure would have to wait until he murdered the ship that was the cause of all his troubles. Sure, in some small part he was also to blame for the situation at hand, but it was mostly that damned ship. _Those_ damned ships.

* * *

He took a small step forward, the queue in front of him seemingly lengthening. He cursed out loud again and went back to planning some sweet, sweet revenge.

Those two fucking ships deserved everything coming to them, truly.

* * *

Two weeks ago, aboard GCU Trench-class _Surely You Don’t Mean Me?_ Ester-Ciansa Seori Aanev Tan dam Simuriie had made a very innocent and small mistake, easily forgivable and forgettable. After nine years of serving in Contact he had remarked that it was time for a change of scenery. His next words were then, in the stupidest possible move, not an inquiry into how one went about joining Special Circumstances, but were rather about taking a _holiday._ The ship had to actually _pause_ everything it was doing for a moment of shock – a microsecond, in its case – to comprehend what the biological organism aboard had just uttered.

A day later he was sitting aboard a VFP named _Look There I Go,_ hurrying onto some small unContacted planet in the middle of nowhere with absolutely nothing on him but a thin dress that didn’t even reached his knees and a promise of a _vacation_ . The ship dumped him in one of the planet’s many uninhabited jungles and sped off, leaving him alone for who knew how long, unable to make contact with anyone. After that, he had managed to get captured by the natives who weren’t so primitive as the ship made it seem and were _very_ xenophobic, meaning he got thrown into prison where he now plotted his escape and eventual demise of not only _Look There I Go_ but also _Surely You Don’t Mean Me?_ as he was certain it was mostly the fault of that damned Contact ship for ratting him out and getting him thrown here. He had no idea whether they were coming for him at some later date, leaving him alone in here to mellow out (probably), whether they had actually made a _mistake_ (unlikely) or this whole thing was a genius plan by the SC to draw him into its ranks _and_ get some vital job done (very likely). It didn’t matter what was the scenario, he was in danger in all of them.

* * *

So here he was. He swished his tail, wishing that he hadn’t requested that damned bio modification. The fur was all muddy, stuck together in great big lumps that itched. Or they would, if he let them, but he had cut off all sensation and feelings being sent from his tail about three days into his prison stint. He had also instructed his body to start preparing for the worst, enforcing his bones and muscles, preparing for strenuous activity in great amounts. He had checked out the place and mapped it in his head, finding multiple weak points that could be used as a part of an escape plan he was building.

He took another step onwards. The line seemed to go on forever. In normal circumstances he would have glanded something a long time ago, but he decided to be careful as he had no idea how sensitive the implant under his skin that they had inserted actually was. So instead he had to suffer, dying of boredom as he was, and _engage_ with the prison populace. Pure torture. He was going to go mad if _something_ didn’t happen soon.

* * *

That day – his tenth day in prison – _something_ finally happened. A new arrival, a new alien that caused quite a stir. So much that it even brought Seori out of his cell into the common area to observe the spectacle that was the reception of the new prisoner.

The new alien wasn’t very tall, under two metres. Its skin was pale pink and orange, similar to Seori’s but without the green and blue undertones. Two small eyes stared at its surroundings, frantically moving around. The alien’s nose protruded from its face, as did its ears. It had pink lips and white teeth, and even a pink tongue - all perfectly visible as it panted for breath. The other prisoners weren’t very gentle with it, pushing it around and kicking it. As it landed on the floor, its two arms going out to shield its head and grip the blond hair, Seori’s ears picked up its whimpering.

He had seen enough. And while he might not have superior weaponry in the form of nanomissiles and armed escort drones, he still had vastly superior Culture gene engineering.

He calmly strode forward, the prisoners parting in front of him as easily as air. He reached the new alien without any problems. Two of the prisoners were still attacking the downed figure, but a strong shove pushed both of them away and into the crowd. The small alien was completely folded into itself, still quietly whimpering. There was red fluid all around it, which was a bad sign, as Seori was almost certain it belonged _in_ the humanoid, not outside of it.

He picked up the little alien and held it in front of him, one of his arms underneath its back and the other underneath its knees. As he took it back to his cell, he could hear the murmuring around him. Something about him claiming the little alien as his, to feast or to mate with. He didn’t care for the rumours.

He set the alien down on his cot. As soon as it touched the sheets, the alien froze and stopped whimpering. Seori was actually glad for the implant, as he had found out it also functioned as a translator, which was going to become very useful in a matter of moments.

“Don’t worry,” he said as gently as possible. “I won’t hurt you. Are you in much pain?”

The alien stiffened when Seori spoke and then cautiously raised its head. “Not really,” it slowly said. Its voice was raspy and as soon as it got the words out, it coughed.

“I’ll bring you something to drink. Do you need help?” Seori asked, indicating the bloodied shirt.

The alien shook its head and said: “No, thank you, I think I can manage.”

“Alright then. You might stay here as long as you wish. I’ll bring you something to drink now.”

As he neared the door to the cell, the alien suddenly spoke up: “What’s your name?”

“My name? Ester-Ciansa Seori Aanev Tan dam Simuriie,” he told it. The alien went quiet for a moment and Seori thought it looked a bit panicked. “But you can call me Seori,” he quickly added. The alien smiled, apparently grateful. Evidently its memory wasn’t as good as his.

The alien then introduced itself: “I’m Charles Tucker the Third, but you can call me Trip.”

“Of course, Trip,” gracefully said Seori and left to get the drinks.

* * *

The alien – Trip – was still in his cell when Seori returned, but now there was a sizeable crowd around the entrance of the cell.

“Move,” Seori ordered, impatient. Some of the prisoners did, but two stood their ground, blocking his path into his cell. Seori recognized one of them as the one he shoved away from the prisoner.

“What do you want?” he asked them despite the fact that he already knew what they wanted.

“The newcomer,” the new one hissed, and Seori realised he actually knew her. She was a head bigger than him, her skin rough and her claws long. She was the unofficial leader of her particular species in the prison and disliked Seori from the beginning. He discovered he had never even found out her name.

“No one touches that alien,” Seori proclaimed. “I claimed it. It’s mine. Now go away.”

She was now showing her fangs at him. “No,” she said. “I don’t want to. I want that little creature.”

“Well, you’re not getting it,” he said and set down the containers. If he wasn’t careful he could end up spilling everything and then he would be back to square one.

As soon as he straightened back up, the first attacker, the one from the crowd, was already in front of him.

Seori quickly calculated how much shit he could get in with the guards and not be thrown into solitary, and then punched the violent animal into unconsciousness. It went flying down, hard, but he didn’t have time to commemorate the occasion. The other one, the leader, was now snarling at him and trying to tear his throat out with her gnarly claws. He quickly jumped back, then brought his foot up and slammed it into her knee. Something loudly broke and a muffled scream sounded out as she clamped her jaw shut to not yell out in pain. She landed on her side, already curling around to swipe at him again, but he was faster and kicked her in the neck. It was a carefully controlled kick, so her neck remained unbroken, but the next one definitely broke _something_ when he hit her ribcage. She howled in rage and he jumped back. The next kick, this one to her skull, silenced her. Sadly not permanently, but it would have to do.

The cries of the onlookers assaulted his ears, but he ignored them and took the containers into his cell and offered them to Trip.

Trip, who was staring at him with wide opened eyes. “You killed them.”

“I most assuredly did not. They are all still alive. Hurt, but alive. Now drink, it’ll help you.”

* * *

The guards didn’t bother Seori too much when they came to pick up the two unfortunate attackers and he didn’t bother them, merely stared at them through the force-field that had been activated in the meantime.

“They won’t bother you as much as they did before,” he told Trip. He didn’t add _hopefully_ at the end.

“I guess I should thank you,” mumbled Trip. “But why…?”

“Why did I save you? Why not? Should I let them torture you for fun? I think _not.”_

Trip smiled at him again. “Well, thank you.”

They both went silent for a moment before Trip spoke up again: “Does that mean we are now sharing a cell?”

Seori thought about it for a moment. It _would_ be the safest, so…

“I suppose,” he said.

“Alright,” Trip slowly said and nodded.

They sat in near silence that calmed Seori down, but Trip seemed agitated by it. Seori realised that the alien was going to want to _converse._ Oh boy.

“Where are you from?”

The question _almost_ took him by surprise. “Excuse me?” he asked Trip, deciding whether to lie or not. Judging by the lack of recognition when he recited his Full Name, he was almost certain that Trip belonged to an unContacted civilization, level 6 or even less.

“Sorry, was that an insensitive question? I just– I just wanted to know– I’m from Earth, if you wanna know.”

On one hand, revealing the existence of the Culture at an inopportune moment and in a wrong manner could damn whole species and civilizations. But on the other hand, _fuck_ those bastards.

“Ah, no, no problem. I’m from the Cian O, in the Ester system. Bit far from here, but just how I like it.”

“So how did you end up in here?” asked him Trip.

“Trespassing. Not that there were any signs or anything. I should’ve just _known,”_ he spat out, all bitter. He was still ashamed of the ease with which they had grabbed him. He was totally unprepared for a fight and did not react in the best way possible.

“They are some nasty bastards, huh,” Trip chuckled. “Me, I’ve got only myself to blame. I tinkered with one of their engines, and didn’t think fast enough. New foreign tech, and I blew it up in a most magnificent explosion. I was in jail before my ears even stopped ringin’. Solitary confinement or some shit, I never even saw anyone else for like a week, and then they came and threw me in here. And the funny thing is? I almost don’t wanna leave, ‘cuz I know my captain’s gonna probably kick me off the ship for that stint.”

That was an interesting tidbit of information. Time to do some reconnaissance.

“So you work on a starship?”

As subtle as a ROU looking for a fight. Seori amazed himself, sometimes.

But Trip only smiled: “Yeah. Chief Engineer, actually. We’re on a mission of exploration. You know what? Betcha we could take you home, if it’s in the general direction in which we’re headin’.”

That sounded phenomenally stupid and was probably the last thing Contact would want Seori to do. “That sounds amazing,” he said. “I would appreciate it greatly. I would be quite willing to offer you my knowledge in exchange. I’m some sort of an explorer myself.”

“Then we just have to figure out a way to leave.”

There was something in the way that Trip said that particular sentence that alerted Seori that not everything was fine. He turned the sentence over a few times and then started attacking it.

“Won’t your crew be looking for you?”

“I’m not really sure,” Trip mumbled. “I mean… I don’t know.”

“You don’t think they will bother?” asked Seori with surprise. He wasn’t a big fan of cold-hearted and asocial species. Those might be the easiest to infiltrate, but they were also the very cruel ones that usually despised the Culture and how it handled things.

Trip dismissed his concerns: “Usually they would, of course they would! But I have to admit that I’ve been kinda makin’ a mess of things. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t blame them if they left me here.”

Trip seemed surprised with the ease with which it was all coming out, and Seori was most definitely not saying anything about his pheromones, specifically created to relax and put pan-human species at ease. Then a sudden thought, born out of nowhere, almost made him yell. Was this the reason he was here? To rehabilitate and help this, this lowly engineer escape? Surely not! They would have to plan his imprisonment in this particular prison, Trip’s arrival on the planet and subsequent accident, imprisonment and arrival in this specific _and_ then they would also have to make sure that Seori decided to help out! Too many coincidences, too many things that could go wrong for a Contact… scheme…

He face-palmed, ignoring Trip’s stricken look. “Fucking bastards, the lot of them,” he murmured under his breath. This had SC written all over it. He knew it! They had sent him here, on this convoluted mission, as a part of… What, their recruitment program? Well, they could all go fuck themselves as he was _not_ joining. He liked his body parts to stay where they were, thank you very much.

“Not you,” he said, looking at Trip. He could just let the whole thing fall apart. He could even kill the poor alien, probably save it from more incessant SC meddling. And he should probably really stop thinking about Trip as ‘it’. _It_ was very rude.

“Excuse me, Trip, but does your species have a concept of gender?” he asked to distract Trip from thinking about his outburst.

No, there’s no way he was going to kill Trip. It would serve the bastards right, but it would also be cruel, petty, and a murder. None of which usually posed a problem to Seori, except that this was an innocent living being that most definitely did not ask for this. Because anyone that did ask was _immediately_ disqualified from that label due to their level of intelligence being that of a rock.

“Uh, we, ahm, yeah, we do. I’m a man, a, a male, actually. And… And you?”

It was funny, thought Seori, seeing Trip so flustered and visibly uncomfortable. “I’m also a male,” he said, answering both things that the singular question asked and not adding _at the moment,_ as that often confused less developed civilisations. “I asked merely because some species do not divide people by such means and I am not familiar with yours.”

“That’s, uh, that’s fine,” stammered Trip, his cheeks still rose-coloured. “It was just kinda sudden, you know? And I gotta admit, I’ve never really thought about it this way. Seems rather stupid, doesn’t it.”

“You’ll learn,” said Seori. “Don’t worry about it too much.”

“Sure, sure. Hey, what does one do for entertainment ‘round here?”

Seori went with the very unsubtle change of subject. “We’re mostly gathered in the common area or the front yard. We eat in the cafeteria two times a day, and during the quiet hours we are locked in our cells.”

“Sounds amazing,” Trip murmured.

Ah, sarcasm. How did Seori not miss it. Those damned sarcastic ships.

“The evening mealtime will be soon.” The evening mealtime bell was going to ring in a matter of minutes, going by his impeccable internal clock. And neural lace, of course. But he wasn’t just going to reveal every trick up his sleeve, oh no.

He stood up and gently took a hold of Trip’s upper arm with his tail. “Come, you need to be close to me. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

* * *

“Yuck,” complained Trip and watched the yellow glob slowly fall from his eating utensil onto the plate.

Seori didn’t like it either, but he at least had the privilege of ignoring the signals sent to him by his taste buds. Trip didn’t have anything like that, so Seori didn’t laugh too loudly when he watched Trip trying to eat the frankly disgusting dish.

It did have all the necessary nutrients, vitamins and such, but that didn’t make it any more appealing.

“Eat it,” Seori advised Trip. “This is all you’ll get today. Try not to waste it.”

“But it’s repulsive! There’s no way I’m gettin’ this down without barfin’ all over the place!”

“Quiet! Don’t complain so much, you’re drawing attention.”

Trip immediately quieted down. Then he grabbed and held his nose with one hand, inserting a large portion of ‘food’ with the other.

Seori sighed and turned away.

* * *

The wake up call came exactly as anticipated, four hours and 23 minutes after the lights out signal. Seori was already wide awake, but Trip took a bit longer to rouse.

Judging by the loud buzz between the resident scientists and the background noise in his head from all the new gadgets and devices suddenly being switched on, Seori knew that _something_ was happening. And he had a very bad feeling about it.

Meaning, he wasn’t surprised at all when they came for Trip and dragged him away.

Damn, what wouldn’t he give for a scout missile right now! Not a smart one, no, he didn’t need any snarky remarks about how _not_ in control of the situation he currently was. Just a regular old 0.1 dumb one. He absolutely detested being helpless. As a Contact agent he really was rather useless alone, wasn’t he.

He immediately squashed that thought. _This_ was exactly what SC wanted, damn them! He realised fully well that with _their_ enhancements, this prison wouldn’t pose any sort of problems to him at all. And yet, here he was, trapped, because those damned Minds really wanted to prove something to him.

He spent the whole day sulking and shooting angry looks at anyone that approached him.

* * *

Trip was returned to him just before evening mealtime. He looked awful. There were red and blue spots all over his skin and he could barely stand under his own power. His arms were full of tiny red spots and red lines that Seori later discovered were _incision_ marks.

“That looks rather painful,” he remarked and offered Trip a container of water.

Trip took it and gulped it down without even stopping for a breath. The remainder he spilled over his head.

“Fuckin’ bastards,” he growled, throwing himself onto his bed. “They’re convinced that I blew up that engine on purpose! They callin’ me a terrorist!”

“That sounds unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant?! Is that really the best you can say? They fuckin’ tortured me, nearly broke my damn ribs, for god sake. ‘Confess, confess!’ they kept blabberin’. Confess what? That I’m a useless idiot whose incompetence blew up that reactor? That I’m a lazy bum that didn’t even check all the conduits before… Just leave me alone!”

Trip was greatly distressed, punching the bunk before folding himself into a small ball and ignoring Seori. That was also fine with him, as he needed some silence to think.

Clearly, what the SC wanted was for him to save himself and Trip, cheer up the human and inspire him to go and do some heroic things later on that will, again, unfailingly follow the exact path SC had plotted for him.

And clearly, the best course of action would be to escape as soon as possible, alone, and leave Trip to die in here.

So why was he already coming up with an escape plan for both of them? Damned SC, they knew their people too well. He was going to murder _Surely You Don’t Mean Me?,_ he was absolutely positive of that. That ship was going _down._

* * *

The next morning Trip was even harder to wake, and to say that he was not in a good mood would’ve been an understatement. He didn’t eat much for his morning meal, which worried Seori. Then he realised that he was behaving exactly as expected by those SC bastards, which made him mad and he snapped at Trip, who in exchange skulked off and was later taken away by scientists.

The trouble was, later reflected Seori, that he already _had_ a bunch of escape plans, but they were either 1. for a single person, 2. a tandem of two Contact agents, or 3., depended on having backup in the form of a ship. None of which was applicable to him at the moment. The best idea he had come up with involved getting himself into one of their ‘laboratories’ – which is what they called their elaborate torturing chambers – and work from there. It would be a tad unpleasant, but nothing he couldn’t manage.

An escape plan now created, Seori found himself planning his next move. What was he going to do afterwards? Hitch a ride on Trip’s ship – the Enterprise, Trip had told him – and simply get away? Should he actively look for a Culture ship, if they weren’t already tracking his every move?

He wasn’t completely sure he _wanted_ to go back. Sure, living outside of the usual comfort provided to him would be hard, but he could survive. Probably. He honestly had no idea, which worried him. He wasn’t used to _not knowing_ something so big. And the quiet. That was another change, something that unsettled him greatly. Yes, when he was amidst other agents and Minds and drones and, well, _others_ in general, some peace and quiet were greatly appreciated, but total silence? That was maybe too quiet. He actually missed the witty repertoire the Minds were more than pleased to serve, unprompted and usually also unwanted.

And to find himself now of all times contemplating these things, well. Life could be quite strange.

Except that he didn’t want _strange._ The reason he hadn’t wanted to join SC was because he liked his present life a lot, thank you very much! The thought that some Minds could simply overturn it because they thought his skills could be put to better use somewhere else didn’t sit well with him.

He could, he realised, just stay with these humans, if they let him. They seemed reasonable enough, and if he was careful in his interactions with them, he wouldn’t even impede their natural progress. That was an idea worth considering. But later, after the first part of the ordeal – their escape – was finished.

* * *

“They kept on with the same shit as yesterday,” told him Trip when they brought him back. Apparently he was too exhausted to walk. Or too bruised. Seori brought him something to drink again, and then decided to begin with his plan tomorrow.

But first.

“Trip, you mentioned before that you would be willing to take me with you. Does that offer still stand?”

“If we manage to get out of here, I’m gonna give you way more than just a free ride,” told him Trip. “Of course, only if the Captain agrees with me, but I hope he will.”

“I would be more than honoured to accept your offer. And, more importantly, I have devised a plan for us.”

Trip immediately sat upright on his bunk when he heard that: “An escape plan?”

“A more or less functional one, yes.”

“Dependin’ on what?”

“Depending on whether I can get those scientists/tortures interested in me as well.”

* * *

That wasn’t going to be hard, Seori knew. He had analysed the implant and found that it monitored bodily functions, functioning as a general welfare check. There was nothing easier than glanding a heavy mixture of specialized drugs and then simply waiting for the scientists to come and pick him up.

He hadn’t planned on getting strapped onto a table, but it couldn’t be helped now. Not that he really minded. He had tested the bonds and discovered that he could, if necessary, tear them. It would injure his hands and feet, but it was a small price to pay for mobility.

They had wheeled him into a big and very brightly lit room. As soon as the doors opened and the table with him on it was pushed inside, he felt like _something_ gently poked at him – courtesy of the neural lace – almost like saying hello. But when he next checked, there was nothing for him to communicate with in that room. It must’ve been a mistake.

He had long ago cleared his system of any drugs that impacted his awareness of his surroundings, so he immediately spotted Trip, strapped to an absurdly big chair with an absurd amount of straps. Trip’s eyes were closed and he was panting, his hands clenched in fists with his knuckles turning white.

One of the scientists that had brought him into the room went over to the group standing around Trip in order to talk to them.

“Do you really think it is wise keeping them in the same room?” the first scientist asked.

Seori probably wasn’t meant to hear this so he stayed quiet and tried to listen to every single word.

One of the other group replied: “The change only happened recently, after the second alien was brought in. They need to be in close contact if we want to study them.”

“Of course, head-leader, I will not question this anymore.”

“That shall be adequate. Now, bring–”

They were still talking, but Seori had stopped listening. There, on the other side of the room, by the blue cabinets that housed all of their machinery – he could still hear it – something was lying on a desk. And it was _something,_ glimmering softly under the bright orange lights. It didn’t look like anything, actually, as it was pretty hard to look at. Seori had a very bad inkling of what exactly that was.

It wasn’t very big, about the size of his head, but even that was much bigger than he was used to. On one hand he dreaded being right about this, but on the other  – if it wasn’t _that_  – they were in some deep shit.

He looked over at Trip again. Like they weren’t already.

The scientist #1 that had gone to converse with the other group now returned. It stretched its mouth in a very unpleasant manner, showcasing two rows of small, grey teeth.

“Well then, this is going to be very interesting.”

* * *

Blocking pain and other unpleasant impulses was much easier than Trip’s screams. But they weren’t causing any serious damage for now and he hadn’t found what he was looking for yet. He needed more time!

The scientists weren’t getting anywhere with their research. Apparently they had abandoned their torture of Trip in favour of trying to figure out how exactly their two new alien prisoners were interconnected. They weren’t having much luck, mostly because there was no connection, but also because they were all a bunch of inept idiots.

Just a couple more minutes and they would be on their way!

So preoccupied was Seori that he only belatedly notice the sudden increase in activity, additional staff that was holding him down with their bare hands and an appearance of what he thought looked suspiciously like a giant saw. He frantically replayed the missed conversation and with horrible shock realised that they were going to cut off his leg.

For scientific purposes, they had said. To see his regeneration process in action, to monitor Trip’s responses and such. That wasn’t very important. What was important was the fact that they were going to _cut off his leg!_

He didn’t worry about pain or bleeding out, his body was too smart for that. No, the trouble was that their escape attempt required that both of them had the use of _all_ of their legs, so this would pose a major setback.

He briefly toyed with the idea of asking for help, but if that _thing_ really was what he thought it was, then it wouldn’t really matter whether he had two legs or one. And he wasn’t going to give in just like that, he had some pride and something to prove, damn it!

* * *

Out of the two of them it was Trip that seemingly felt worse after the ordeal, despite him still having both of his legs attached. Seori’s mind was full of calculations, trying to work around the newly created problem of him not being to walk so well.

“Fuckers,” he quietly cursed because one, he could, and two, it showed Trip that he wasn’t dead.

The scientists seemed quite taken with whatever readings they had collected during the _operation,_ so he quickly gave Trip what he hoped was a reassuring smile while they weren’t looking. Trip was still pale, staring at Seori in what to him appeared to be a state of shock. Nothing he could do right now.

He focused back on the scientists.

“ –promising results,” one was saying. “I believe that if we attempted the same procedure the other way, we would get a complete picture, and a very clear one at that.”

That did not sound great. That sounded positively horrific. And everyone was nodding along in content, joyfully looking at the data and then at each other. Then they descended on Trip like Contact agents onto an unsuspecting civilization still in its crib and Seori realised he would have to make a _choice._

He didn’t like making _choices,_ another good reason why he should never be allowed anywhere near SC. He strongly believed that hard choices should be made by Minds, those beings that had all (or at least a majority of) the facts and more computational power than an entire planet. He wasn’t like that. And he most definitely didn’t want to make hard choices that would impact millions of people, possibly costing thousands their lives. That wasn't him! He didn’t understand why SC wanted him.

But that wasn’t what the current problem was all about.

By this point, he was almost convinced that he knew what that _thing_ on the table at the end of the room was. So he had a choice. He could call for help, spare Trip the suffering that these monsters wanted to inflict on him – in exchange (because _of course_ there just had to be something _in exchange)_ for Seori’s freedom. By this he would be admitting that he was in over his head, that he was unable to survive without Contact and SC. He could also not do anything and simply stand – lie – by, watching them cut off an innocent person’s _leg._ Which would be a horrifying ordeal to subject someone to only because of his personal beliefs and ideals.

Was his personal belief and personal freedom more important than that of an innocent bystander, even though he might come from a far less developed culture?

Was he a proper member of the Culture or not?

He was going to kill those damned SC bastards.

This was no choice at all.

* * *

He saw the saw descending in slow motion, almost.

“Help, please!” he said out loud, startling the scientists. The UT was translating every word of what he was saying, despite the fact that he was now speaking in Marain. “I admit it, alright? I wasn’t ready. Fuck you, you were right. Now help us!”

There was nothing. No movement, no change, and the saw finally touched the leg. Seori wanted to squeeze his eyes shut. Had he been wrong? Did they really abandon him? Did the Culture really forget this fast, did SC really not care?

Shit, shit, Shit. He had been _wrong,_ and now Trip is going to pay–

All of the scientists collapsed at once, the saw falling into pieces and away from Trip’s leg.

Seori tried the restraints again – they immediately fell apart. He hadn’t been wrong, after all. "Fuck you, you bastard. That was fucking rude."

He stood up. Or at least, he tried to stand up, forgetting his missing leg for a moment. But then Trip, who was also already free and not too terribly wounded, was already by his side and supporting him. “Excuse me?” Trip asked him. Seori shook his head, he wasn’t talking to Trip.

“Waiting till the absolutely last moment? What for? Dramatic assholes, the lot of you.”

Trip looked at him with worry in his eyes. “We gotta clean your… Your wound,” he said, indicating the lack of Seori’s right leg.

“No need,” Seori grumbled. “Show yourself!” he demanded.

“What’s wrong?” asked him Trip, but Seori ignored him, because there _it_ was, finally.

The first thing he realised was that it actually was quite big. As big as his head and of a colour that he could not determine. Its entire exterior seemed to shift and change even as it hovered in front of Seori’s face, unmoving. Its fields weren’t coloured as it hung silently in the air.

Seori briefly noted that Trip’s mouth had fallen open.

“Who are you?” he demanded. He feared what the drone was going to say. He didn’t actually want to hear it.

“Cyrs-Xanef Amare-Zi Xato Milaje,” the drone told him, its voice almost mellow but with steely undertones. “Your Personal Armed Escort Drone.”

Bam. There it was. The end of his freedom. Damn fuckers.

Still, he could go on. “Really. With nomenclature like that, you’re a lot more than just an armed escort drone.”

“I believe the proper expression is your new ‘partner in crime’,” the drone said, its fields flashing vaguely rosy to show that it was poking fun at them. “Now come. There’s a module already waiting for you, and _Spatial Dimensions Are Overrated_ is getting antsy. We have to leave quickly, the situation is quite precarious.”

“The situation you just created here is quite precarious as well, drone! You just murdered nine people!”

Drone’s fields flashed light grey – frustration. “I did not!” it said. “If you checked, you would see that they are merely unconscious. But of course not, you would rather leap straight to assigning blame.”

“You sure are grumpy,” grumbled Seori. “Alright, I’m going. But this one is coming with us!” he said, pointing at Trip.

Trip, who had been following the exchange with wide open eyes and mouth now immediately raised his free hand in protest: “No, I just wanna–”

“If you don’t want to be strapped right back into that chair, you’re coming with us. No objections, drone.”

“But– unContacted!”

“I _know._ I _was_ in Contact, remember? I’m sure they briefed you. I know what I’m doing,” Seori said with far more confidence in his voice than he actually possessed. “Now let’s go. Irritated ships don’t make the best conversationalists.”

“Splendid,” the drone exclaimed, with something akin to a sigh accompanying the word. “This will all turn out great, absolutely amazing, and nobody is even going to yell at us.”

Realising how very obviously displeased the drone was with his very existence, Seori suddenly felt a bit better. He leaned on Trip, gave the drone a condescending look and asked: “So, where’s that module? Let’s get this show on the road.”

This actually had the potential to not turn into a complete disaster, he silently thought to himself. And then: wasn’t he usually a realist?


End file.
